


6 Hours

by Skyepilot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Devotion, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, Love, Male-Female Friendship, Safehouses, Speculative, Star-crossed, adoration, quantum entangled lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 22:58:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8552818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot
Summary: Future fic where Daisy and Coulson run to a safehouse and realize that the other person also thought that they were always perfect for each other (where I insist that they are the Nick and Nora Charles of the MCU, but obviously gender-bent).





	

They reach the safehouse and it's the first moment they've had to breathe in the last 24 hours.

Daisy starts to take off her gauntlets, her ritual of self-examination now, and then immediately looks over at him after they're set down on the small table between the bed and the kitchen.

He knows that at some point, the blast with the weapons the Watchdogs were using penetrated her suit.

He remembers the look on her face when it happened, and her resolution to keep fighting.

He's just not sure where.

"Daisy, we need to look you over," he tells her, as she starts to put her fingers against the hole on his field jacket.

"You've been shot," she says to him.

"It's just a scratch," he answers her, shaking his head to ward off her worries. "You first."

She sighs, and then starts to unzip her field suit carefully, wincing when she gets a shoulder loose from one sleeve.

A dark bruise is forming there, but otherwise, they realize at the same time that it wasn't just adrenaline.

There's no open wound.

"The modifications to my field suit," she mentions, tossing the jacket on the bed. "It has wiring that can absorb energy blasts."

He sighs at that, gratefully. He's not always in the loop about that kind of stuff these days.

"Now you," she goes on, and moves towards him to help with the jacket.

When he gets his shoulder free, the same shoulder where she was injured, he gives a little whine, and Daisy raises an eyebrow as she shimmies the jacket sleeve down his arm.

He doesn't say anything, but he knows she's thinking about it.

The way they seem to mirror each other. How there's always been an unspoken question mark around this, but ever since he came back from the other dimension...their connection to each other-

"I'll get the medkit," she tells him, looking at the streak of blood down his shirt arm.

He sits on the edge of the bed and eases out of his shirt, then looks at the wound. Scratched by a bullet, but deep enough to need a couple of stitches.

And here he thought he'd be doing this for her.

When she returns, she sits next to him, and gives him a very medical once over, almost like she's hiding behind it, and starts to clean the wound.

"All said, aside from your scratch," she says with a teasing tone. "The mission went okay. We should check in with Mack."

"Hmm," he agrees, watching her hands on him, feeling suddenly self-aware to her touch.

"You know," she continues. "I think this is the first time we've been alone in....Except that time, you were incorporeal-"

"It was science," he jokes.

"Right. Science." She puts down the scissors and picks up the liquid stitches.

She's right. It's the first time they've been alone together in almost a year.

Her eyes flick back up to his as the stitches set, and then she puts the piece of gauze she cut over it, and starts to set the tape in place.

"It's been a long time," he agrees quietly, holding her gaze.

"It makes you realize how you can take things for granted, I guess?"

She finishes up and then snaps the kit shut. And it's just them, sitting together in silence on the bed.

He's suddenly aware of her eyes on the scar on his chest for the first time, and he reaches for his tattered shirt again.

"There's probably something more comfortable in one of these drawers, right?" she asks, suddenly standing up. "Something SHIELD issue?"

He rises and follows her as she walks to the bathroom area and opens up the tiny closet to pull out a sweatshirt.

"Here," she says, as she turns, finding him close by.

And holds it out to him.

"Thanks." He takes it, but doesn't quite move to put it on.

"Are you-" he starts, like he's thinking too much. "Hungry?"

After all, she's used her powers today. She's probably drained right now, and taking care of him, when he should be the one-

"Yeah," she nods, stepping closer to him. "Starving."

Maybe the reason it happens now is like she said.

It's the first time in forever that they've really been alone.

Or, it's what she said about taking things for granted.

Either way, she somehow manages to work herself up to kissing him. Just once, very gently.

She can feel him holding in his breath, like he doesn't know what the next step is.

Just when she thinks she might work up the courage to show him, he puts a hand on her arm, and takes a step backwards.

"You can relax, if you want. Take a shower? I'll contact Mack and throw together some food."

"Okay," she agrees, with a sigh.

 

###

  
When she gets out of the shower, while she dries her hair, she tells herself she's already moved past the awkwardness from earlier.

It wasn't really that awkward, to begin with.

It's that Coulson is careful. Usually she is, too.

Something about them being apart for so long (too long?), but how he's always remained in her thoughts. The way she wanted to resent that, but couldn't.

Given the kind of relationships she's had for most of her life, it feels like a breakup that should never have happened.

Or never really did.

How after all that stuff with the evil Book, and Robbie's family, and their connection across, whatever...how he immediately stood beside her and went after the Watchdogs with her.

Thinking it all through in hindsight, he's the one who insisted on being her backup. He's the one who suggested the safehouse that let them be alone for the first time in ages.

She slips on the tank and sweatpants and walks around the corner right into the kitchen and sees him leaning over the stove.

"That smells good."

"I hope it tastes as good as it smells," he tosses over his shoulder.

He's put the sweatshirt on and she can see the back of his neck and that he'd usually have a haircut by now, but he's been letting stuff like that slip since she came back.

"I'm pretty sure you know your way around the kitchen," she offers warmly, stepping closer to him, experimentally putting a hand on his good shoulder to look over it down at the stove.

He smiles at her, the way he does where he looks like nothing else could make him happier.

It makes her laugh a little, and he puts down the spoon in his hand, turns towards her, and swallows, then slips his arm around her waist.

"I haven't called Mack yet. I just entered the SHIELD code into the alarm system-"

"So they know we're here," she finishes for him, raising her eyebrows.

He leans forward and kisses her, drawing her in closer to him with his arm, and she knows why it takes him time to work through this kind of stuff.

She can feel all his emotions just beneath the surface. He's always been a sensitive man, and she's seen behind his wall before.

Her fingers skim along his face, along his jaw until she runs them through the hairs at the back of his neck, and then tips her face at an angle when his hands fall onto her hips, and he turns them and backs her the few steps against the wall of the galley kitchen.

Their eyes meet for a moment, and then he moves in again, when the stovetop makes a hissing noise as the water starts to boil over the pan.

As their lips part, she presses another kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I guess we're having spaghetti."

He laughs, which is something new and already dear, as his eyes travel all over her face, like he's memorizing everything about the moment.

"Yes," he finally answers, the corners of his eyes making them smile.

"Too much garlic powder?"

"Nope. Seems just right."

 

  
###

They finally call Mack when they start to feel guilty.

After debating, for at least thirty minutes, what level of guilt should actually make them feel guilty enough.

It ends up mostly being because it's Mack and he worries the most.

She bites on his good shoulder, enough to tickle his skin, while he tries to carry on the conversation.

"We eliminated the Watchdog threat," he repeats, sounding a little bit defensive.

Mack obviously has some words about this.

"Yes, of course Daisy is fine. If she wasn't," he turns over to look her in the eye as she lays back against the pillow and tries to distract him.

Embarrass him, really. She's going for that.

She's always loved to tease him that way.

"Her arms are," he says, taking her arm, and running the fingers of his prosthetic along it to her wrist. "Very okay."

"Tell him just _how_ okay," she whispers, letting her hand slide down his side, below the sheets as he shifts just out of her reach.

"Of course I'm distracted," he says into the SAT phone. "You know Daisy, right?"

"I'm _so_ bored, stuck in this safehouse with Coulson," she says aloud. "Mack, I need an extraction."

He gives her a sad shake of his head, and narrows his eyes when she sticks her tongue out at him.

She just raises her eyebrows and wriggles in place and starts to grin when he mouths, "I'm going to make you pay."

"Uh huh," he answers, holding a finger up at her as she reaches at him again. "Right. See you then."

He hangs the phone up, then sets it down on the table beside the bed, and turns on her, pinning her underneath him before she can get away.

"Six hours," he says, then tips down his head to kiss her.

She kisses back, and seconds after, he's let her go, to move underneath him anyway she wants.

Daisy usually knows what she wants when her mind is made up.

And it's surprised him how much this doesn't feel new.

Because it's still just....Daisy. It's always been her. And their connection.

She could almost seem too good to be true, except, that's how he always feels when he's with her.

The air rushes out of his lungs, once she's managed to get him on his back, while her hands move up his chest, surveying him beneath her.

"I can work with that," she nods with determination.

He smiles at her with adoration, already grateful for the next six hours.

 

###

"Coulsoooonnn," she groans, shifting to reach blindly for the SAT phone, and checking the time.

"Phil," he answers, smug, when she flips the sheets over the top of his head.

"Phil," she corrects. "I'm serious. It says ETA: 20 minutes."

She hands down the phone to him as he squints at the screen to focus on it.

"Can you, just...," she puts a hand on his good shoulder, and helps him along as he lets go of her legs and props himself on his elbows over her.

"What?" he shrugs, trying not to laugh at her, while she gives him a frustrated look and fixes his stray hairs.

"The no-fraternization rule?" she reminds him.

"Yeah," he smirks, then reminds her. "We've ignored that a lot in the last six hours."

"You're a bad influence," she says, and then slips out underneath him and gets out of the bed.

"I think I'm growing...as a person?" he tells her, flipping on his back and biting on his fingers.

"You don't even care," she realizes, trying to ignore his seductive gaze, and laughing as she tugs on the sweatpants.

"Some things are certainties. I've been thinking about the long view for awhile now."

"Care to share?" she teases, bending to toss his sweatshirt at him from the floor, and then slipping hers on.

"I've shared a lot," he smiles, sitting up and dutifully pulling the shirt over his head.

She waits until he's done, and then steps towards him, smoothing down his hair again.

"Tell me that I'm not your plan."

He stares back up at her, mischief playing in his eyes. "Yes. You're my plan. You have been since the day we met."

" _Phil_."

Her voice has gone soft, and she sits back down on the edge of the bed. "I've never been anyone's plan."

"You're mine," he tells her, very earnestly, running his hands along her arms until his fingers wrap around hers.

"Certainties," she muses, squeezing his fingers. "Just like a team showing up here to extract us in fifteen minutes."

"I used to not believe in certainties." He brushes his fingers through her messy morning hair. "And then-"

"And then."

She leans forward, and presses her lips to his, wishing that there wasn't something waiting to get in between them.

"And then," he repeats, pulling her down to him, as she slips her hand up inside of the sweatshirt, to the place over his heart where there's a scar.

His fingers wrap around her back and then slide down to her hips, as she kisses and crawls her way up over him again.

They both freeze when they hear the knock at the door and wait, listening.

The familiar knock comes again.

"Duty calls early," she complains.

"But, it calls," he sighs, falling back against the pillow.

"And loudly," she groans, when the knock resumes again.


End file.
